


In Need Indeed

by justanotherStonyfan



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:33:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6890329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As far as friends with benefits goes, this arrangement works out well for both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Need Indeed

When Stark's voice tells them they're coming in to land, Steve pulls away in a split-second – which is news to Clint, he kind of figured maybe Steve just went to sleep where he sat – and he gets up to stand by the back, walking off the jet before the ramp's even down.

Clint catches Nat's eye as she uncurls from her spot and, though the others frown after Steve, it's only Clint who follows him.

When he gets in, Steve dumps the shield and cowl on the conference table and keeps right on going - they see him through the windows. Clint gets in after him, just in time to see him go through the doors, and he drops his bow and quiver next to Steve's things and follows.

Steve's going to his quarters, and the tall, slender-hipped, broad-shouldered shape of him is constantly disappearing around corners in front of him. Clint follows but lets himself get left behind and the thing is, he can smell the cologne Steve put on this morning, can smell the blood on him (mostly not Steve's, and Steve's injuries were certainly minor enough that they healed on the return journey).

Clint knows where he's going, he can only be going to his room, but he's a little less sure that Steve wants to be followed. 

By the time he can see Steve's room, the remaining dirt that clung to Steve's boots has fallen off so he's not leaving a trail, and all Clint's got left to go on is instinct.

But Steve's door is open.

Steve's room, Steve's suite, is gorgeous and modern and Clint takes it in and is half-surprised that Steve would want something like this. It's all sharp lines and monochrome and nothing like the way Steve sometimes describes the memories he keeps safe.

“Cap?” he calls out. 

Steve doesn't answer, and Clint slows his run to a halt.

“Cap?” he says.

There's still no answer so he leans forward and sticks his head in Steve's room.

“Get in the closet,” Steve says from, wow, right beside the doorframe and...uh...

“Closet?” Clint says.

Steve looks pained, and then resigned, and Clint makes a grab for him as he turns away. Steve spins on his heel, knocks Clint's hand away and marches him back against the wall, his hand coming up to cradle Clint's head at the last second so it doesn't connect with the plaster. There's an odd look on his face, and Clint only knows what it is 'cause he's seen it before, only really knows what it is 'cause he's seen it on _Steve_ before. 

It's anxiety.

“Cap,” he says, and Steve's other arm is around his waist but there's a sheen of sweat on his skin and he's not quite focusing. “You with me? Get hit in the head or something?”

“I'm with you,” he answers. “Just...”

Panicking internally, right.

“Closet?” Clint asks, and Steve sighs, still not-quite tracking.

“If you don't want-”

“Okay,” Clint says. “I got it. Closet.”

Steve kisses him, hard, as per usual at this point, (and Clint isn't about to keep going until he knows where Steve's head is at,) and drags him towards the closet. It's small but that's kind of the point, and they squeeze in together so that Steve can pull the slatted door shut behind him and sag against the wall.

Sometimes, Steve has implied but never admitted to previously, the world is too big. And sure, super-nazi alien-weapons might be something they have to deal with on a semi-regular basis, but it's not as easy to come out unscathed as the Avengers make it look, and Steve is not, repeat, not operating on a full battery at the best of times right now.

There's barely room to stand up in Steve's closet, and Clint wonders if he specifically requested something like this, or whether Steve's more obvious about needing it. Clint sometimes pretends he hasn't read the original files – the places Steve was kept and sent to when he 'woke up.' Pretends he doesn't know that Steve once answered with a half truth and a wry grin when someone asked if he needed anything, 'A small soundproof room I can scream in.' 

“Doin' okay over there?” he asks, and Steve's kind of wheezing but not really, and it's warm and muggy in the closet now they're both coming down from the fight.

“Shit,” Steve mutters to himself, and he moves a little, but Clint gets it.

Most of Steve's weight is against the wall, knees bent, the side of his face pressed to the cool wood, and Clint's been there once or twice. Mainly on the tiles on the kitchen floor or the vinyl in the bathroom, but he can relate. 

“Need me yet or you want your space?” Clint asks, and Steve makes a noise but doesn't give a full answer, so he leaves him be for now. 

If Steve wants contact, he'll initiate.

Clint isn't sure how long it takes for Steve to get himself under control, and wonders if Steve knows either. It takes a long time, and he tenses all the way back up again when Tony wanders past and says “knock knock” as he knocks twice. In fact, he holds his breath, so Clint does the same, and they both keep silent while Tony cranes his neck to look further into Steve's room.

“Cap?” Tony says, and a glance at Steve shows Clint that he's closed his eyes as Tony mutters to himself. “No? Yeah, sure, skip debriefing, that's fine.”

He leaves, but Steve waits another thirty seconds before he blows his breath out through pursed lips, and Clint is not averse to this, that much is something he wants to make clear. Steve still won't call it fuck-buddies because he does't like the term, they're more than 'buddies,' (and, really, they rarely fuck,) but they both know what this is and they both enjoy it.

Clint waits for Steve to open his eyes, waits for Steve to tilt his head back and look at him.

“Where you at?” Clint asks, his voice a whisper because Stark is gone now and debriefing should take a while but he might come back.

Steve watches him, raises both hands and uses both to point at the floor. _Right here._ He clenches his fists and presses them together, palms inward, and then he points at Clint. _With you._ And even as he signs, he grabs at the front of Clint's suit with his outstretched hand and yanks him forward.

It's always like this, Clint thinks as he breathes into the kiss and opens his mouth to Steve's – fast and hard and halfway to desperate – but it's what they both want. It's how they both work, and they step up to each other, bodies pressed together until Steve backs Clint into the closet wall with a bang that's probably not as loud as it sounds in the confines of the space they're in.

This is fine, Clint's okay with this – it's not the first time they've fooled around in here. Maybe it's the childish irrationality of a space like this, the idea that if they can't see you then they can't get you, whoever they are. Maybe it's the idea of being held together, the feeling that you won't fly apart into pieces if you're somewhere small enough to keep you whole. 

Sometimes Steve can't stand confinement, and other times he craves it, but he breaks the kiss to take his fingerless glove off his right hand with his teeth, and he lets it fall as he kisses Clint again. 

Sometimes they take their time – neither of them are in love but Steve's the definition of touch-starved and Clint's seen old newsreels and old photographs. Nobody slings an arm over Steve's shoulders the way they used to, nobody invades his personal space the way he was used to, and Clint is pretty sure there's not a single one of them who's seen that thousand-watt smile first-hand.

Now Steve's hands (they're huge and sometimes he forgets how huge) are roaming, sliding down Clint's back to haul him closer, and Clint slings one arm over Steve's shoulders, wraps the other around his torso.

“Easy, Cap,” he says when Steve breaks for breath.

“Fuck you,” Steve answers, but there's no heat in it, the words soft and warm between their lips, and Clint doesn't know if Steve trusts anyone else to let them hear him swear for real.

He's certainly never heard Steve do it in front of anywhere else.

Clint's easy, by the way. He's used to this and Steve's used to this and the door rattles when he leans the wrong way but, pretty soon, they're moving closer, rolling hips and pushing thighs and Clint's hard soon enough. He can't feel Steve through the suit but that's because Steve's suit has a cup because he's not insane enough to use his legs as a primary weapon without one. 

You can't be Captain America if one nut-shot takes you out of the fight, right?

Steve makes a noise against Clint's mouth a moment later as he winces – Clint can feel it – and, yeah, there are disadvantages. Constraints.

“Can't you take that thing off?” Clint says, and Steve snorts, starts fumbling around at the front of Clint's pants instead.

Steve's outfit is basically a jumpsuit and he's got to get mainly out of it before Clint can have any fun. Clint's, however, is a pair of pants and a vest, and Steve's calloused palm is hot, rough skin dragging against Clint's stomach as it works its way into Clint's pants.

He doesn't waste time, kissing Clint again when he gets his fist around Clint's cock, and he starts to tug slowly, drawing the length out of the leather to stroke properly. He breaks the kiss, licks his palm and then gets straight to it, no buildup, no slow burn, just jerking hard and fast so that Clint's caught by surprise.

“Hey, hey,” Clint says, a little out of breath, and he grabs at Steve's wrist.

“What?” Steve says, with a tone that's close to irritation but is clearly something else, as he stops but doesn't let go.

Clint shoves his hand away and starts on the collar of his uniform, fumbling with the zipper. He reaches the stripes and realizes he's going to have to peel them off corset-style, and so he unclicks every strap he can find.

“Spandex had a zipper,” he mutters and they both look down so their foreheads are brushing, and then Steve tips his head back and laughs to be out of his way.

“One pro for what, eighty cons?” he says, and he has to let go of Clint so Clint can get the damned suit off him.

Harness, mantle, overtunic, tunic, “Come _on_?” Clint says, and Steve chuckles when he gets down to the undersuit. “How do you get into this so fast?”

“Practise,” Steve says, but he's still in the undersuit which is a-

“This thing is a onesie?” Clint asks, and Steve hums through his nose.

“How long has it been since we did this?” he asks.

“Not since you got a pile of other shit over your onesie,” Clint tells him and the middle of this thing is transparent. “You have mesh panels.”

“Ventilation,” Steve answers but at least there's a goddamn fly, and he manages to get his hand inside and tries his best to get Steve's cock out.

Steve cracks up halfway and assists, which is about the dumbest thing Clint's ever encountered.

“Do you just not drink in this?”

“I hold it,” Steve answers, and he keeps a straight face for about ten seconds.

Then he laughs, and Clint laughs too, and by the time they're done laughing, they're both out of breath.

“You look like an idiot,” Clint tells him, because his cock is sticking up out of what's left of his suit and it's hot but also dumb.

“Thanks, sugar, you too,” Steve says, and Clint looks down.

“We ever getting' started?” he says, and Steve shrugs one shoulder as though it doesn't matter.

“Took you long enough to get me out,” he says, taking Clint's cock in his hand again, stroking it at a rate that kind of, wow okay. “I figure a man called Hawkeye could have at least found the shortcut without completely undress-”

“There's a shortcut?” Clint says, grabbing for Steve's, and Steve doesn't even blink.

“-ing me. Yes there's a shortcut?” he finishes and, yeah okay, that makes sense – the man has to pee at some point after all.

“You never-”

“It was more fun to watch you struggle.”

“-told me. Does anyone else know you're this much of an asshole?”

Steve grins, teeth white and sharp in the broken lines of shadow as he leans forward.

“Nope,” he says, and his breath is warm on Clint's lips. “It's all for you.”

There are teeth when he kisses this time, nipping and scraping and the callouses Steve has surprised Clint the first time – he didn't know Shield Callouses felt so nice. It's something to do with the way Steve's skin regenerates. It's thicker, tougher, but it's not so rough. 

“Feels good, Cap,” Clint says, tightening his fingers.

It comes easily now but Steve's confidence was a surprise, too. Having watched him trip through a conversation or two with women, Clint had figured he'd be just as nervous around guys but, with Clint at least, he's a pretty good flirt. 

“Sure does,” he says.

Clint remembers the first time, the desperate way Steve had breathed, “kiss me,” and then “do you kiss?” as though anybody in their right mind would say no to that face, except now Steve's stopping just short of chewing on Clint's ear and his hand is moving tight and fast and it's not about lasting the longest.

“Don't come on the suit,” Steve says, and Clint snorts before he moans.

“You either,” he says, and Steve's breath hitches but he chuckles too.

“Yours is wipe-clean isn't it?”

“Such an asshole,” Clint answers, smiling too, and Steve kisses him properly, tongue in his mouth, other hand on his hip to keep him steady. 

His head tips back and pulls their mouths apart, but he makes himself look at Steve, finds Steve staring back at him in the semi-darkness, and Steve's cock is thick and hot in his hand, dry too but they both know from experience that Steve prefers it that way. 

Steve's brow furrows and his mouth drops open, but he keeps his eyes on Clint leans right into his personal space, and Clint squeezes a little tighter, pulls a little harder and gets a satisfying noise out of Steve a couple of seconds before Steve's free hand comes up to slap against the wall of the closet.

Steve gives a low, rumbling kind of moan and shuts his eyes, tips his head back. Clint nips at his jaw because he can, and because it's all he can reach right now, and it's such a satisfying mutuality.

It's like jerking himself off but the pleasure doesn't change with his movements – like doing the same thing he's done for years, but he's watching it play out on Steve's face instead. 

“Come on, Cap, how long you gonna-”

“Not,” Steve bites out, “long,” and oh, okay, okay, this he can work with.

Steve grips him hard, harder still and part of Clint knows there's superserum in the veins in those fingers. Clint's worked alongside him for long enough to understand that he can rip metal doors off hinges and throw his shield with enough force to decapitate and he finds himself not quite giggling.

“Hey,” Steve says, halfway to indignant, and Clint shakes his head, smashes their mouths together for a second or six.

“Careful; you could rip it off,” he says, and Steve looks down.

“Nah,” he says, making his fist tight enough that Clint sees stars. “But only 'cause I like you.”

“Death by handjob,” Clint chokes out and he tightens his fingers as hard as he can but Steve just snaps his hips forward twice and presses his mouth to Clint's throat.

“Worse ways to go,” he says, doing the hip-snapping thing again and next time Clint wants him on the bed if he's in the right mind for it. 

They're both still high on adrenalin at this point, pretty worked up anyway, and that's mainly what Clint blames for the sudden onslaught of final-destination he gets right about then.

“Cap, I got maybe half a minute,” he says, and Steve sinks his teeth into Clint's throat.

“Mmmhmm,” he answers, pulling just that little bit faster.

Clint tries to match him stroke for stroke but Steve's stronger than him and recovers more quickly, and all Clint can really do (isn't Clint supposed to be providing the comfort, doesn't that mean Steve ought to come first?) is keep his hand going while he starts to get spots in his vision.

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, head thunking back against the wall, and he doesn't even register the hiss of sympathy Steve gives. “Shit...Cap?”

His back bows a little, he can hear his hair whisper against the wall, and his hips kick up.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says, over and over as though he thinks Steve might stop (he won't) “please don't stop, oh-”

Steve encourages, tells him he wants it, wants to see, and there's something about the spotless uniform now covered in mud amongst other things, the seemingly endless journey back, and the delicious counterpoint of trying to keep a steady rhythm when someone else's is making you come undone that has Clint spiraling.

“You meant it?” he gasps. “'Bout the...suit?”

Steve just laughs at him, low and sweet, and says, “you gonna come?”

And then Clint _does_ , his knees giving out – good job he's got Captain America to hold him up – and his mouth falling open. It's only training that keeps him quiet, and only then because of the knowledge that Steve's bedroom door is still freaking open.

There's no way he didn't come on the suit, but Steve doesn't seem to care at all, still moving his hand until Clint bats him away with a breathless “stop it, asshole,” and Steve laughs, but he leans back against the opposite wall and wets his lips when Clint uses the space he's been given to go to town.

He uses both hands, jacking Steve off with one as he spreads precome over the head of Steve's cock with the fingers of the other, and Steve's smile falters, his head goes back.

“Fuck yeah,” he whispers, and Clint isn't going to make a Team America joke but he could, and the knowledge of it is all he needs.

Steve's hands start searching for an anchor, his hips stuttering – he wants to thrust but he's holding back for fear of dislodging Clint's hands, which is a good sign.

“You gonna keep it quiet?” Clint asks, and Steve still finds the breath to snort.

“If I can manage in a tent full of five other guys, I can shut up in my own closet,” he says, and then “o-oh.”

Clint smiles, jacks him off a little faster.

“Sure about that?”

But Steve rolls his head forwards and his eyes flutter open.

“Kiss me,” he says, and Clint does, gets on his toes to do it and, just as Steve sinks his teeth into Clint's bottom lip, he comes all over Clint's hands and shivers.

There's a few seconds where they mostly slow to a standstill, but they have to move eventually.

Steve sucks Clint's lip when Clint tries to pull away, and only lets go so that Clint can hold his hands up and look at them.

“Great,” Clint says. “I guess you don't have tissues?”

Steve smirks as he pushes off the wall.

“In a closet?” he says. 

He pushes the door open and immediately crosses to the bedroom door to kick it shut.

“Come on,” he says, smirking as he heads off to the en suite. “We'll take a shower – I could use somebody to wash my back.”

Clint steps out of the closet too and shakes his head as he follows.

“Unbelievable,” he says, but he's smiling when he says it.


End file.
